Phillip had a death grip on his champagne glass, but he hadn’t had enough time to himself to take a single sip. He was being suffocated by taffeta and drowned in simpering smiles. The blonde duchess at his left side was doing her damnedest to whisper in his ear even though at least five other people were also talking at him, and the baroness on his right wouldn’t stop petting his bicep.

He’d had enough.

He tugged at his bowtie, a signal to Drake, and the ever-attentive head of security swooped in to extract him. “Excuse me ladies, I have to borrow the king for a moment,” he said, and all the ladies whimpered their disappointment at having been robbed of his attention. He said a few gracious phrases, he couldn’t remember which ones, and then slipped out of the room as quickly as possible.

He ripped off the tie as he hurried to the garage. How the hell was he supposed to ascertain which woman would make the best queen when all they wanted was romance? Didn’t they understand how important this was, how seriously he took it? He’d already thought this party was a terrible idea, but now he was considering canceling it entirely. Maybe he could conduct interviews via Skype or something.

He stepped into the darkened garage and the residual noise from the party petered off into cricket chirps and the occasional hoot from a nearby owl. Phillip rolled up his sleeves, basking in the quiet. Here and the stables were the only places where he could truly relax nowadays. The smell of oil and rubber and horses and hay calmed him like nothing else could. Thank God he would at least be able to ride on the House grounds by himself for the next two weeks without dragging a trail of bodyguards or eligible ladies along with him. Looking forward to some alone time, he wheeled the vintage Indian bike out and swung a leg over it—and stopped.

Ella was standing in the doorway.

His first thought was that she’d decided to take him up on the offer of a ride after all now that she knew who he was. His cock twitched in anticipation and he leaned toward her, but managed to rein himself in before he told her to hop on. He’d have to let her down gently. Inviting her earlier had been a mistake, though not one he could make himself regret. He needed to focus all his energies on picking a wife, and having a fling when he was supposed to be interviewing candidates would be indiscreet. If only she could’ve been one of the eligible ladies. Then, all his problems would be solved.

But as she strode toward him, she showed no sign of her earlier attempts at flirting. Instead, she said, “I can help you pick a queen.”

He blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?” he asked after a moment.

She kept advancing, stopped only when she was at his side. Dear God in Heaven, the way she wore that tiny black dress should be illegal. “I’m great at organization,” she said, and it took him a moment to refocus on her words instead of her body. “Just ask Daphne and Anna. I can make spreadsheets, lists of qualities, do research on the candidates. You won’t have to suffer through trying to figure out which woman is the most charitable and diplomatic while five others are trying to pet your biceps.”

He winced. “You noticed that?”

She snorted. “Who didn’t? Not that I can blame her.” Her eyes went wide and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said through her fingers.

He laughed out loud, noticing for the first time that she was still carrying a champagne glass from the party. “Are you drunk?” he asked.

She let her hand fall back to her side. “Of course not. At most, I’m very lightly buzzed. I had to have two glasses of champagne when I found out the mechanic I’d been fantasizing about was the fucking king. But don’t worry, my organization skills are still very much intact. We can start working now, if you want.”

He shifted in his seat to lean closer, trying to smother a smile. Apparently champagne brought out her dirty mouth. He liked it. A lot. “You were fantasizing about me?”

“What? No! Why would you say that?”

“Because you just said you were.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Champagne. Goes straight to my head. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fast becoming my favorite beverage.” He handed her a helmet before he could think better of it. “Hop on.”

She hesitated, turning the helmet over in her hands. “Why?”

“I know a quiet spot where you can tell me all about your organizational skills.” And maybe more. He knew all the reasons why having a fling with her would be a bad idea, but God help him, he was considering it anyway. Maybe she’d turn him down, save him from himself.

But she smiled and pulled her ponytail out, shaking her hair loose—he had to shift in his seat again to hide his growing interest, was she trying to kill him?—and pulling the helmet on. “I’m only a little bit buzzed, but are you sure I’ll be okay to ride?” she asked, setting the champagne glass on the floor.

“Sure. I’ll go slow. All you have to do is hang on,” he answered.

She climbed on behind him, nestled up close with a shiver of cold. He cursed himself for not bringing a jacket, but on the other hand, she felt amazing tucked up against him like that. She even smelled good, too, like lilacs and summertime and sex waiting to happen.

He revved the engine and pulled away.

Her dress rode high on her thighs, and her arms wrapped even tighter around him when they took corners. By the time they arrived at the spot he’d picked out—a little hill under the stars, with a beautiful view of the rising moon—he was in the mood for a lot more than some organization. She was too, judging by her reluctance to pull away from him and get off the bike. But she straightened and plunged ahead with her pitch anyway, struggling to tug her windblown hair back up into a ponytail.

“You’re probably considering ending the party and conducting more professional interviews,” she said, reading his mind. “But you should remember, you’re choosing a wife as well as a queen, so there’s bound to be romance involved at some point. You should take advantage of that, use the women’s willingness to have a go at it. If you get too uptight some of them—maybe the perfect one—could lose interest.”

He sighed, dropping his helmet on the seat. She was right, unfortunately. But even if she was reminding him of his duties, he wasn’t quite ready to give up on his much-needed quiet time just yet.

“Okay,” he told her, and took her hand. It fit perfectly in his. “But while I’m interested in hearing more of your proposal, what do you think of just enjoying the night for a few minutes? You did interrupt some rare alone time. I was planning to relax under the stars, reconnect with my country a bit.”

She looked aghast and tried to pull her hand away. “Oh. Of course, I’m so sorry. I can give you some space—”

He tightened his grip, the idea of putting space between them suddenly unimaginable. “I wouldn’t hear of it. Let’s sit and watch the moonrise together. It’s nice, having you here.”

She ducked her head with a small smile, acquiescing. He tugged her to the wide tree stump he liked best and they sat together, hand in hand, watching the moon.

For the first time all night, there was nowhere else he would rather have been.